


Howl my love

by LiveOakWithMoss



Series: Radioactive [6]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Allusions to bondage, Character death but with...a happy ending? Sort of?, Codependency, Grief/Mourning, Implied Sexual Content, Injury, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 10:00:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4055833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Curufin was out of his element, and one time he didn’t mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Howl my love

**1.** It was damp and dark, his arm – his dominant arm, curse it, he wouldn’t be able to work the forge for a month without pain – was hurting abominably, everything smelt of mud and offal, and his thrice damned brother wouldn’t stop chuckling.

“I wonder what in the void you find so bloody funny?” he gritted out, as Celegorm threaded his needle to stitch up the now clean wound on his arm.

“Seeing you in discomfort,” said Celegorm, blithely. “Such a novelty, brother, you should really do it more often, it’s quite fetching.”

“This is all your fault, beast,” hissed Curufin. “Let’s go _hunting_ , Curvo, it will do you good to get _out_ , Curvo, I wish to spend _time_ with you, brother – As if we do not spend more than enough time together as it is. _Ouch_ , you did that on purpose!”

“Not my fault you decided to look for your prey on the far side of a tree, sweetheart,” said Celegorm, ignoring his curses as he plied his needle against Curufin’s flesh. “I would have told you to go around rather than through, but that’s just me. If anything, this proves my point. You’ve gotten rusty shut up in those stuffy caves, sweating over your anvil and our cousin, and you’ve forgotten basic skills – like how to kill things.”

“I’ll kill you,” muttered Curufin, sweat shining on his face as Celegorm tied off the last stitch. “With arrow or knife or bloody tree, I don’t care, so long as you are dead and I don’t have to – ” He was stifled as Celegorm leaned forward and stopped his mouth with a kiss, his tongue hot and heavy against Curufin’s.

“But how you would miss me were I dead,” murmured Celegorm, fingers brushing wickedly against Curufin’s injured arm, and Curufin shoved him back to straddle his hips, not caring that the force of his movements set him bleeding again.

 

* * *

 

 

 **2.** He and his son had fought, again, and now Celebrimbor was no longer speaking to him. Curufin was pounding his rage into the anvil, the sweat pouring from him so that he melded salt and steel, and later, when his tools slipped, his blood as well.

 _Blood of my blood_ , he thought, and worked the stained metal into something lethal and deadly, and then shattered it, and laughed wildly until his throat cracked. _See how my blood fails me!_

He wasn’t sure what he expected, when Celegorm finally came up from behind and reached around to take the hammer from his nerveless fingers. He wasn’t sure if he expected remonstrations from his brother, mockery at his loss of control, harsh words against his son, or, more likely, and more in character, words against Finrod. But he sank uncaring back against his brother’s chest, exhausted and hollow, his hair coming unbound and catching against the ties of Celegorm’s tunic. Celegorm wrapped strong arms around him and kissed his hot throat and his damp temples and held him close, and said nothing, nothing at all.

 _This blood of mine, at least, shall not fail_ , he thought, and something unfamiliar and hot coursed down his cheeks in his exhaustion and furious grief.

 _No_ , came Celegorm’s reply, a brush against his mind as gentle as the hands on his hips _, no, I shall not fail you._

 _I shall not leave you._ Calloused fingers traced his hipbones.

 _Never._ A broad chest pressed to his back.

_Never._

 

* * *

 

 **3**. Curufin had always loathed sharing – his possessions, his territory, his thoughts, those close to him – and nothing irked him greater than sharing a horse. It was undignified, it was ungainly, and this time, it was _humiliating_ . He buried the fear that had nearly choked him as much as the strong hands around his throat, instead reveling in a violent fury. His anger threatened to throttle him; he wanted to _kill_ to free himself of it. He _would_ have killed, had tried and would have succeeded, had not the entire affair been damned from start to finish.

It wasn’t until they were long out of sight of the cursed pair, their horse trembling and foaming with exhaustion, that Curufin realized he was shaking almost as badly as the animal. He clung to Celegorm’s waist and buried his face between his brother’s shoulder blades, rage and fear slicing his breaths, not even caring how pathetic he must appear. He thought at first Celegorm was murmuring to the horse, to calm it, but then the words became clear, rumbling low and soft beneath Curufin’s ear.

“It doesn’t matter, Curvo, we’re safe, it’s going to be all right, you’ve got me, I’ve got you, that’s all we need. Brother, heart’s blood, heart’s dearest, I’m here…” He’d covered Curufin’s hand with his own, and Curufin had held on tighter and pretended he hadn’t heard, pretended he didn’t need the reassurance.

It was only later that it occurred to him that Celegorm sought to reassure himself as much as his brother.

And that he had failed.

 

* * *

 

 

 **4.** For Celegorm had lied; all was not well, he could no longer pretend it was, and Curufin, who never faltered or doubted, had no idea what to do. His brother’s rages he could handle, his bursts of temper and violence were familiar, were easy. He had seen Celegorm laugh through pain and loss, had seen him roar his delight at challenge and insurmountable odds. He had not suspected, after all, that there was anything left that was capable of breaking his brother’s heart. But Celegorm’s power and rage were diminished, his eyes blank and his face wiped clear with pain, and Curufin could think of nothing to do.

In the end, Celegorm vanished into the wood for a time, and for once Curufin did not wholly begrudge him the rites he was likely performing there, hoping despite himself that they would bring him some measure of comfort. But when Celegorm did not return, Curufin sought him, half expecting him to be lost in a blood rage, arm deep in the still breathing entrails of some beast. Instead he found his brother, crouched and awkward, his usual easy grace turned stooped and ungainly, his powerful form shrunken as he huddled against the bole of a tree.

He raised his face when Curufin approached, his face frighteningly young and lost. “He won’t answer me,” he whispered. “He will not return. The last of His gifts… My _friend_ … And I cursed him, I sent him from me!” He wept, then, he who never wept, and Curufin knelt beside him, wanting to rebuke him for his weakness, wanting to remind him that none were friends who were not they two, but instead he cradled his brother against his chest, stroked his hair, and said nothing.

And what his brother asked of him, he gave.

 

* * *

 

 

 **5.** The night before they marched on Doriath, Celegorm alone among them was cheerful, joyous. He drank deeply, laughed at Maedhros’ grim expression and Maglor’s drawn face, and teased Caranthir until their short-tempered brother had snarled and lashed out at him. At last Curufin had dragged him off to the tent they shared, thrust him in and glowered at him.

“Control yourself,” he said shortly. “Save your battle-joy for the morrow, you are disturbing those who don’t know you as I do.”

Celegorm laughed at him and reached out to wind an arm around Curufin’s waist and drag him close. “No one knows me as you do,” he purred, and mouthed at Curufin’s jaw like a dog worrying a favorite toy. “What shall you do to keep me from them, to keep me from _disturbing_ their pre-battle gloom? How shall you distract your wild dog?”

Curufin, who wasn’t in the mood for teasing or jest, shoved at him, but Celegorm didn’t let go, and Curufin bared his teeth. “I would muzzle you like the dumb hound you are,” he growled, as Celegorm bent to seize the lacings of Curufin’s tunic in his teeth. “I would bind you to a tree with a short chain and beat you until you shut up, until you cowered at the sight of me.”

Celegorm grinned, unmoved, pulling Curufin’s tunic open. “You know nothing about dogs, sweetling,” he informed Curufin. “But I must admit, I like it when you threaten me so.” He wrapped his arms tight around Curufin and buried his face in Curufin’s neck, half pulling him off his feet. “Tell me more of how you shall humiliate me.”

When they rode into battle the next day, the ligature marks were hidden beneath Celegorm’s leather gauntlets and gloves, and the bites on Curufin’s throat were concealed beneath his mail coat and armor. But the smile on Celegorm’s lips was as bright and savage as ever, and Curufin knew that his distraction of the night before had availed him nothing.

Celegorm reveled because he could smell death on the air – and if it was his own, he no longer cared.

Curufin felt the fear – a foreign sensation these days, but distinct – filter through his veins like cold water. For his part, he feared not for his own death, but he did not think he could bear the idea of watching his beautiful, mad, ferocious brother fall.

Could not bear a world without his wolf.

 

* * *

 

 

 **6.** He had expected Darkness, when the end came, and darkness there was. He had expected nothingness, and for a time, he thought that was what he had – he could see nothing, feel nothing, and thought himself alone.

But then he opened his eyes, awoke, and Celegorm was there, his presence as solid and warm as it had ever been, his spirit as tangible as his physical presence had ever been. Curufin was not sure whether he had breath, nor blood, in this new place, but the relief that flooded him choked the air in his lungs, pounded with the blood in his ears.

_Tyelko, Tyelkormo, brother wolf-mine, beloved –_

Whatever new world this was, whatever everlasting night – or not – he had been consigned to, he could endure. He had endured far worse. As long as they granted him, still, his brother at his side, he would endure anything.

He reached out, and Celegorm reached back.

 

 


End file.
